


Publicity

by Dolimir



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle of New York, Clint is asked to consider doing publicity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Publicity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dameange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dameange/gifts).



“Yeah, no.”  
   
Natasha Romanoff found herself in the unenviable position of trying to talk her teammate into something she wasn’t willing to do herself.  “Fury--”  
   
 “Can go screw himself.”  
   
Even though he was turned away from her, staring out at the destruction just beyond his window, she could see the profile of his face, could see his stubble was more than just a missed day of shaving. He had essentially ostracized himself before his fellow agents could, was punishing himself for things outside his control.  
   
Once free of Loki’s influence, Barton had done everything humanly possible to help defeat the ‘god’ who had controlled him; but now that the aliens were beaten, he was quickly morphing into a shell of the man he once was. 

It would’ve been hard enough dealing with the aftermath of having an alien god subverting his will, but to learn that his handler had died when they’d infiltrated the Shield carrier and freed Loki was too much for him to bear. She had always suspected Barton had more than comradely feelings for Coulson, but he had always been so careful never to cross the line.  
   
She found herself wishing that he was trying to drown himself within a bottle; he would have been easier to handle, to manipulate. But he was stone sober. He’d always been lean, but now he was losing precious muscle mass as well.  
   
Her ledger had always contained more red than his, but now, after everything was said and done, she wasn’t so sure.  
   
Instead of arguing with him, she moved to his desk, opened his laptop and typed in a URL. She clicked on the video, even before the rest of the page came up.  
   
The video buffered for a second before an average looking woman with curly black hair began speaking. “It was chaos. There wasn’t any place safe to hide. All my coworkers were running for the stairwells, but I found myself drawn to the windows. I was watching those flying chariot things firing at people on the street when I first saw him.”  
   
“Saw who?” The reporter stuck the microphone closer to the woman’s face.  
   
“The man with the bow.”  
   
“One of the superheroes?”  
   
“No, at least, I don’t think he was. He appeared to be just a man, but all he had was a bow and a quiver of arrows. But every time he shot, he hit something. He never missed. Not once. There must have been something special about his arrows because everything they touched blew up.”  
   
“Are you saying a civilian was fighting the aliens?”  
   
The woman looked a little frustrated. “I don’t know. But that’s not what’s important.  I just…I want…I need to know what happened to him.”  
   
“I beg your pardon?” The reporter looked a little startled, but recovered quickly.  
   
“He ran out of arrows.”  
   
“What?”  
   
“He ran out of arrows just as one of the alien motorcycles started targeting him.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He had nowhere to hide. I watched him take his last arrow and jump off a thirty story building. The arrow was different…special somehow, because a rope appeared. He ended up slamming through the windows of the building opposite me. I still can’t believe the panes broke. They’re designed not to break.”  
   
“What happened then?”  
   
The woman’s eyes began to water. “I saw him writhing around on the floor in pain. I can’t believe anyone could survive something like that. His legs should have been shattered or, at the very least, sprained.” She blew out a deep breath. “He didn’t move for a long time. I was terrified that he was bleeding out. But after a couple of minutes, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled toward the interior of the building.”  
   
“So what are you--”  
   
“Look, I just need to know he’s alive,” the woman’s voice wavered with emotion, although it was also tainted with anger. “It’s stupid. I mean, we were invaded by aliens, our own government tried to nuke us and there’s nothing but remnants of death and destruction all around us. Hell, my apartment building has one of those monster ships laying upside down on its roof. I don’t know what’s going to happen; if I can get my cat out or any of my stuff.  I know it’s going to be crazy for a while as we try to dig out, but I need to know that he survived. I need to know if that crazy son of a bitch with the arrows is alive. Because if he survived, then maybe I can too.” 

She gave the camera a wobbly smile. “Maybe, I can be brave enough to face what’s ahead. I just need to know he’s alive. Please, can anyone tell me if they’ve seen him?”  
   
Natasha stopped the video and turned to her friend, raising one eyebrow.  
   
Clint’s eyes looked a little wild as he met her gaze. “You have got to be--”     
   
“In a world of aliens and gods, monsters and superheroes, people need to know that they have a chance to survive. You’re human. You’re not a meta or a mutant. You’re just a man. And we both know that while we survived this attack, there’s going to be more battles. Our future is changing and people are scared.”  
   
“I can’t believe that you of all people are spouting Fury’s propaganda bull--”  
   
“This is nothing we’ve ever been trained for.” Natasha shrugged. “But we’re Avengers now. The press will focus on Stark, Rogers and the Hulk. Fury just wants you to--”  
   
“What about you? You were the one who closed the portal.”  
   
“I was,” she admitted. “But my skill set--”  
   
“Sister, if you’re not doing it, I’m not doing it.”

“I’m not sure you have a choice.”

“Like hell I don’t.”

“Clint--”

“No,” he said sharply, but his face softened as he looked back at the computer screen. “But…”

“But?”

“I am willing to make a house call.”


End file.
